


Relief

by moodyrebelmage



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 07:27:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4995601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodyrebelmage/pseuds/moodyrebelmage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Journeying through the mountains after barely surviving an avalanche is taking it's toll on squishy mage Elodie Trevelyan, but someone is looking out for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relief

The journey wasn't supposed to be long. Solas had been adamant that Elodie take the bulk of the credit for leading the survivors of Haven to their new home, but in a quiet aside he had said it would only be a few days' trek. A week at the most.

To Elodie, even one day was eternity. Concealing the extent of her injuries was exhausting. At least she was vindicated in having allied with the mages; without their help she would never have been healed enough to lead them at all. She pulled her shawl tight around her shoulders, an emotional comfort rather than a physical one. Pallid fingertips fiddled over the bumps of the embroidery she had once added, grasping at any sensation that wasn't burning numbness, throbbing bruises or shifting bones.

The message that night had been clear: these people had been through enough, and they needed something to believe in. They needed her. With a sharp breath, Elodie smothered the aches and the dizziness and the lingering anxiety over being surrounded by snow and cold and glanced back at the train of people behind her.

Those close enough to see were pale and hunched, gripping at their coats or shielding their bleary eyes against the blinding white of the snow. Nearer were her new companions, tired but defiant. A few nodded their support when they caught her watching. At the front were their leaders. Leliana's expression was more masked than her own: sharp, dark, and guarded. A step behind her, Josephine trembled. Someone had given her furs and boots, and only her unhappy face was still visible. Leliana's steps were deliberate, shielding the ambassador from the wind and light, and making a track for her in the snow.

The commander turned his face to the clouds when she glanced his way. He had been avoiding her since pulling her frozen body from the mountain pass, and her usual talent for reading people yielded nothing this time. Was he ashamed of the weakened state he had found her in? Or upset with himself for having sent her back to the trebuchet on her own? She thought there had been a moment, some hesitation when the plan had been decided, but now she wasn't sure. She must have read it wrong.

Turning away, she trudged on. His aloofness was a hollow weight on her chest, and she had quite enough obstacles in her path already.

\-----

Hours later, and every step was daggers. At least when they were flouncing around the Hinterlands, there was time to rest, camps with fires and warm bedrolls and food. Here it was too much to disrupt the entire caravan for her soft feet. She was only one amongst hundreds, and they were counting on her to get them to safety quickly. But the pain was everywhere.

Her unusual silence was starting to draw attention from her friends, who murmured their concern amongst themselves just within earshot. In the few moments she was permitted to stop and rest, she surreptitiously slipped healing poultices into her boots, but with no time to allow her feet to recover the relief lasted half an hour at best.

Just a few more hours until sunset. Memories of childhood distracted her, a time when she was neither a prisoner nor a soft-skinned adventurer. Days spent atop her beautiful courser, giggling smugly as she watched her siblings struggle over small logs while she and her mare sailed as if on wings. Her young legs strong, gripping the dappled back beneath her as they galloped circles around the other riders on a warm summer day.

When they made camp that night, she slipped away as quickly as her mangled feet allowed, seating herself on a rock in a shadowy grove just beyond the tents and fires. Leaning against a withered tree, she pressed its bark into the knots in her shoulders. She tugged her boots off and, with a furtive glance back at camp, cast a fire into her palm to begin the long work of healing her uncalloused skin.

Her healing magic wasn't very practiced; any talent she had for it lay exclusively in alchemy. But it was better than nothing. Relief came in pulses, a fierce throbbing that hurt before it helped. Her cheeks stung as the wind froze her tears, and she was glad she had thought to hide herself away.

“Everyone is to remain within the camp's perimeter tonight,” a sharp voice rebuked her.

Startled, Elodie wiped at her face and tucked her feet under her.

“I know, I'm sorry. I just needed a moment-”

“Herald?” Commander Cullen stepped into the grove, close enough now for the moons to light his face. “Forgive me, I didn't realize.” He shifted his weight from side to side and glanced back at the camp. “Perhaps I should...”

Stone scraped against her blisters, and she winced as the throbbing renewed.

“Are you all right?”

For a split second, she considered lying. There was enough awkwardness between them already, but the thought of putting those boots back on and staggering her way back to camp nearly made her cry. The loneliness was exhausting. With a deep breath, she pulled her feet out from under her and cast another fire.

“I'm not really accustomed to this sort of thing,” she said. “I thought I was getting used to it out in the Hinterlands, but this is something else entirely. Not many mountain excursions on an average day in the Circle.”

After a brief moment of indecision, Cullen took a seat on a smaller rock next to her.

“Why didn't you say something?” he asked, but the reproach in his voice was gone.

“Everyone is counting on me.” I didn't want to look weak.

There was silence for a moment, and Elodie began warming her toes with the gentle lick of magical fire once more. Cullen watched warily, his fingers clenching rhythmically against his knees.

“We should send for a healer.”

“I'll be fine,” she urged. “Anyway, I'm sure they need just as much help themselves. Maybe more.” She tried to laugh it off. “I just wish I had my horse again.”

“The mages at Ostwick kept horses?”

He couldn't hide the indignation in his voice, nor the flustered sigh that followed, and even in the low light she could see the color rise to his cheeks.

“Definitely not,” she laughed. “But I wasn't always a Circle mage. I rode as a child. My eldest brother said I had six legs. It was hardly a coveted talent, but it was mine. Until they took me away.”

More silence. She had forgotten briefly to whom she was speaking, and now the awkwardness flooded back. Perhaps he hadn't caught the longing in her voice.

“I'm so...” he stammered. He shook his head, tugging at the hair at the base of his neck and clearing his throat. “The Inquisition could send for one of your parents' horses, if you have a particular mount you would like.”

She was too exhausted and in too much pain to take any sort of kindness in stride.

“Thank you, Cullen,” she replied, swallowing the lump in her throat. “But my horse died years ago. My parents no longer have anything that I value.”

Whatever distraction the conversation had offered was gone now. The loneliness crept back. Cullen's gaze fell as he fumbled with a pouch on his belt. He handed her a wad of cloth.

“These bandages are dry, at least,” he said. “It's all I have on me. Are you certain you won't let someone see to you?”

“I'll be all right. Thank you.”

With a slight bow of his head, he began to walk away, but stopped after only a few steps.

“Would you like help getting back to camp?” he asked.

She opened her mouth to decline. She had put so much effort into keeping her impairments a secret, why ruin it now? Unbidden, she recalled the last time he had come to her aid. Strong arms, gentle hands, cold plate, and the unexpected scent of elderflowers as she clung shivering to his neck. Darkness clouded every moment between kicking the trebuchet's lever and waking up in the Inquisition camp, but this memory was clear as day.

Her cheeks flushed, the first time they had felt warm in days.

“I'll be fine,” she repeated.

With another nod, he walked away.

\-----

She crawled out of her tent just after dawn. Most of the camp was already milling about, eating their breakfast rations and folding up tents. Sleep had done her half a world of good, but it wouldn't be long before the cycle began again. Before her, Blackwall heated some kind of porridge over the fire. She stepped toward the warmth and tripped over a heavy pair of fur boots just outside the flap of her tent.

“Are these yours, Cassandra?” she asked her tent mate.

“They are yours, I'm told,” the Seeker replied flatly.

She glanced around, but whoever had left them – was it Cole? Could it have been Cullen? - hadn't waited to give an explanation. She slipped them on gratefully, her heart doing a little dance at how instantly they shielded her skin from the cold. One less hurdle to jump. Now she only needed to focus on the remaining pain.

After breakfast she helped Cassandra to fold their own tent up, then walked the bundle over to where a group of soldiers and stablehands distributed the Inquisition's stores amongst the horses to carry.

“Your Worship?”

A young soldier approached her as she handed off her pack. On another day, she would have urged him not to call her that. Today, she would reserve her energy and pick her battles. He jogged up to her, a jaunty Fereldan forder chuffing behind him. As he handed her the reins, she noted that it was saddled.

“The Commander said we were to redistribute this one's load,” he explained. “Said it would be better for morale if the people could see you leading up ahead, and they could see you better if you were riding. Asked if you would agree.”

Her fingers wrapped slowly around the cold, cracking leather of the reins. The beast's velvet muzzle brushed at her cheek and blew familiar puffs of steamy air down her neck. For the first time in days, she smiled.

“I would.”


End file.
